Escape
by Daimeryan Rei
Summary: While being detained in an East-European prison cell, Heero waits for an opportunity to escape. It comes, just like he expected, from the one he loves most.


"Lights out!"

"Lights out!"

The harsh, barking voices didn't affect prisoner 1221, sitting on his small cot in his cramped cell, with nothing but a flimsy blanket and an empty, stained pillowcase to keep himself warm. In the right corner was the bucket for personal use; it reeked as it was never cleaned or emptied, but he ignored the stench. Cross-legged, he remained seated in this position as if meditating, closing himself off for everything around him. It was a simple technique, a trick, to keep calm and feel at ease, as far as that was possible in these circumstances. Heero Yuy didn't believe in God, or any higher power; if he wanted to leave this place, he had to do it himself. No divinity would help him to escape - unless it was the only God he'd ever known in his life… Shinigami. Duo Maxwell.

The mission had gone wrong. Their intelligence had been wrong, outdated; someone had been telling lies. Heero hadn't found the President in his bedroom as he was supposed to be, and it went downhill from there. He was smiling, though. That smile on his lips, while sitting on the hard wooden cot in his disgusting, smelly prisoner uniform, with a bowl unrecognizable mashed food and a bottle of murky water, was simply there because he had seen Duo getting away.

Bullets had been fired, dogs had been released, bodyguards had swarmed together to catch the intruders. Heero had been cornered in the same presidential bedroom he had entered to kill the despot; he had a choice between jumping out of the window and falling to his death or surrender. He didn't care about the lack of decent water and food, clothes, basic hygiene. Duo wasn't here. Duo had escaped. His God of Death had spread his wings and flown away from those who'd wanted to capture him.

Darkness reigned in his cell. Eyes closed, Heero allowed his breathing to slow down. One by one, he shut everything out: the smell, the filth, the sounds. Other prisoners cried, begged, screamed, and bashed their heads against the bars or the walls. Every day someone tried to escape, but it was futile. This prison was a dead end. The end of the line. Once in here, you didn't get out. The current escape attempts were nothing but amusement to the foul guards, who enjoyed the desperation of their prisoners. Heero had searched every crevice, every nook and cranny of his cell, only to end up with nothing. Solid rock and a deep, ice-cold moat surrounding the building. If you managed to pass the guards and get out, you would die from the dangers of nature: hypothermia, vicious wildlife, deep valleys, and insufferable high mountains.

Heero hadn't shown anger at his capture. He hadn't responded to the barbs and beatings from the guards, he had silently undergone the humiliating strip search, ignoring the degrading remarks about his naked body. Stoically, he had ignored them, looked right past them, and refused to react to anything they sad or did. It had angered the guards, not used to being ignored like this. They had dubbed Heero 'the silent one' and made bets as to who would be the first to make him talk. Pain could be shut out. This wasn't the worst he'd been through. He survived one self-destruction and two wars before; pain was nothing but an emotion that could be suppressed. He had to survive. He had to escape. He had to get back to Duo.

It was only a matter of time before the guards made their evening rounds. The majority of them reveled in the sick pleasure to harass the prisoners, shining with their bright flashlights into the cells and beating their clubs at the bars, making a horrible noise. The irony was that a lot of these prisoners weren't criminals, but people who had dared to speak up against the regime of the President. Citizens, law-abiding denizens, who had the gall to question the tyrant and his plan to separate from the Earth Sphere United Nations, plunging the country once more into war.

Freedom of speech was a basic, human right - but not in the law of the President, who was just like any other power-hungry megalomaniac. The Preventers had issued the discreet mission to take the man into custody: no murder, no martyr. Heero had carried a gun to defend himself, not to kill. It didn't really matter. Later, he would think of what exactly had gone wrong. All that mattered was that Duo wasn't here. Heero took a deep breath. As long as he closed himself off, concentrating on recalling Duo's scent, his face, his body, this cell didn't matter to him.

Judging from the gruff, hoarse voice, 'Officer' Zaikovski was on duty again. Not a big surprise. He was the epitome of a sadistic, cruel guard who liked poking malicious fun at the prisoners, the kind of guard who was quick to revoke any right or privilege at a drop of a hat. He was a caricature, a male chauvinist pig; literally, as Heero heard, the other guards complained that Dubrovník Zaikovski ate three helpings, and still he would come back for a fourth with grease running down his chin and the stains of his chocolate dessert all over his uniform. To him, women were good for only two things, and the kitchen was the most important part. His brutal character reflected his name: the same as the Croatian city that had suffered several brutal occupations during history and had gone through multiple wars of independence until it was bombed during the Eve War.

This night, he had someone accompanying him. Not a big surprise either, as guards were obliged to walk rounds in pairs. This was someone new, laughing gregariously at Zaikovski's crude remarks when he awoke the prisoners. It was a constant coming and going of guards. Not everyone was able to work here, either not tough or cruel enough.

Heero's heart skipped a beat. He recognized that voice anywhere.

Immediately, his concentration broke and he couldn't guard off the stench, the claustrophobic confinement and his itchy, dirty prison uniform any longer. Zaikovski was talking loud as always, banging his club against the bars of a prisoner who was called 'the professor' mockingly, even though the man was one; he had also spoken against the new regime. The guard laughed the hardest and added some expletives before moving on. His new colleague laughed with him.

"Really, Moskovicz," Zaikovski's already loud voice increased as he came closer to Heero's cell, "I thought you were just a pussy like your predecessor. Too naïve, too green, even if you do have sergeant stripes in the army. But yeah, I have to say, I like you. You're not as big a disappointment as I thought you were."

"Thank you sir," the other voice came. It dripped with sarcasm, but Zaikovski was too stupid to realize it. Instead, he puffed up his chest, thinking he'd done a great job complimenting his younger colleague.

"Maybe you're still a little too inexperienced for the job," Zaikovski continued. "After all, they only charge me with transport of this particular prisoner. They don't trust him with anyone else."

"Particular prisoner, sir?"

"We call him 'the silent one'," Zaikovski laughed as if he had cracked the funniest joke in the world, "because he doesn't say shit. Three interrogations, and he still hasn't uttered one word. Hasn't said anything since we caught him in the President's bedroom. Heh heh, he made it further than anyone else though. Maybe he wanted some hot action himself."

Moskovicz remained silent until Zaikovski halted in front of a cell. "Here we are."

The flashlight caught Heero off guard this time, squinting his eyes against the hellish bright intrusion. It was impossible to make out Zaikovski's new colleague as he was blinded, yet he had to keep himself under control. That voice. It had to be his guardian angel, his own Shinigami coming for him.

"He incapacitated three guards before we could throw him in his cell." If he didn't know the man any better, Heero would've thought he could hear something awestruck in Zaikovski's voice. "A feisty asshole, a tough guy with experience. I saw him at one of the interrogations."

"You did, sir?"

"Yeah." He spat on the floor. "I saw scars, calloused skin. Like I said, a tough guy. He didn't have any kind of identification on him, but I know who he is."

"You do, sir?" Moskovicz sounded like a kid about to be treated to a chocolate chip cookie. The flattery and the apparent awe in his voice were nothing but music to Zaikovski's big, fat ears.

"He's a goddamn Gundam pilot," Zaikovski whispered, as if conspiring. He waved the flashlight around but held Heero in his circle of light. "They said those fuckers disappeared after the wars, but I think they've become super spies like him, here." Again he spat on the floor. "I had family at the New Edwards Base."

"Let me see him." Moskovicz did his best to sound just as gruff, an echo of Zaikovski's voice, but Heero picked up on the rich baritone intonations infallibly. This voice kept no secrets from him, altered, muted, or muffled. He opened his eyes, finally used to the light, and stared back without showing any sign of recognition, his breathing and heartbeat under control, stoic as ever.

"I had family at the Victoria Base," Moskovicz muttered. "Goddamn Gundams." He kept his flashlight out of Heero's eyes, shining on the lower part of his body. He could see his beautiful Duo's face, distorted by professional make-up into the visage of a man with freckles and two prominent moles, the contact lenses coloring his eyes from his vibrant violet to a dull, hazy brown. A few chestnut bangs peeked from under his cap and framed a pale face with puffy cheeks. Compared to Zaikovski's wrinkled appearance, he looked young, but the grim, harsh look in his eyes was daunting.

"This is the man found in the President's bedroom?"

"The very same." Zaikovski tapped with his club against the bars in an annoying rhythm. "That's why the President himself wants to interrogate him."

"The President is here?"

Zaikovski added even more noise by rattling his keys. A prisoner yelled loudly for him to stop with the noise, to which the guard shouted a crude insult back. "He wants to know how this one made his way all up to his bedroom before he got caught," he spoke, for once keeping his voice down, as if still conspiring. "He could've been killed if it weren't for him staying… somewhere else." He laughed moronically. It was no secret that the President had a lovely wife to present to the public - but preferred his sexual escapades frequent and flamboyant, behind closed doors.

"All right, enough talk." Zaikovski banged once more against the bars. "You're coming with us, silent one. Keep the handcuffs ready, Moskovicz. He's a slippery one."

"The audacity to try to kill the President!" Moskovicz sounded upset.

"The President is a good man. He deserves a gold medal for standing up against that Peacecraft bitch! It'll be the end of the world before he listens to her whiny 'demands'! That stupid woman should be making pancakes, instead of thinking she can be a politician!"

"Women are supposed to serve us, not to command us," Moskovicz replied, eliciting an approving snort from his elder colleague. Heero noticed the strain in his voice. Relena was their mutual best friend, and it was hard for the both of them to hear someone talk so disrespectful about her.

The chit-chat was over. Zaikovski turned towards Heero behind the bars, and commanded him to get on his knees on the floors, hands behind his back. Heero got up from his cot, legs cramped from the position. Obedient, he knelt on the floor and folded his hands behind his back. The bars were removed, the iron rattling in its hinges, and there were footsteps behind him, Moskovicz entering the cell. With a quick gesture, he put the handcuffs around Heero's wrists, securing them. Heero shivered briefly; gentle fingers had caressed his wrists just for a second, before the cold steel was fastened around his skin.

"Get up!" Zaikovski enjoyed his position of power, and when Heero wasn't fast enough to his liking, he whacked the club against his thigh. The guard grimaced when his abuse wasn't met with an outcry of pain. Moskovicz' face was unreadable, and he didn't utter any support for the brutality. Zaikovski snorted.

"I can't wait for the President to get his hands on you," he said. "We prepared some nice things for you tonight, asshole. A fine, ice cold bath - if you don't freeze to death, you'll drown. Tonight you're going to talk, mark my words."

He grabbed Heero at the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the small cell. Moskovicz didn't bother to close the bars behind him and kicked at Heero's shin.

"Move, you lazy fuck!"

Zaikovski belted his moronic laugh. For a moment, he thought he saw a look of disapproval on his new colleague's face. Despite being younger than him and recently relocated, he got well along with Moskovicz than with any of his other colleagues. Moskovicz liked to kick someone when they were down, and he had this wonderful cynical outlook. He hadn't known Moskovicz' family being killed by those goddamn Gundam pilots either. Yeah, he was sure that, for the first time, he could be friends with his colleague.

Heero kept silent as he was dragged along with the guards. He looked around, his body tense, as he saw the gaunt, pale faces of the prisoners behind the bars. Some of them even reached for him - raw hope and worry etched in their hollow eyes. Hope for an escape, hope for a quick, merciful death... and the worries about _him, _about what was going to happen to their fellow prisoner. He swallowed brusquely and swore to himself that he was going to end all of this, with the help of the Preventers or not.

He didn't pay attention to the sounds of the electronic locks. A door swung wide open, and Heero squinted his eyes once again. The long hallways of the penitentiary facility were brightly light, contrary to the prison cells. The large tubes of light shone on his gaunt face; two months in this hell hole had left its marks. His body tensed even more. It could happen any moment now. Shinigami wouldn't wait long to strike, now that he had his victim in his grasp.

The moment came as they passed a large door labeled "maintenance". With a grunt, Zaikovski slumped, knees buckling. Duo had moved so quickly that not even Heero had seen it, but he was ready for action before the guard's big body hit the floor. He didn't speak, he didn't ask for instructions; he didn't care if Zaikovski was dead or unconscious. He knew what to do, and the adrenaline rushed through his body. His handcuffs were gone the next second, and Heero immediately knelt on the floor, relieving Zaikovski of his radio, club, a stun gun and his keys. He also took his clothes, replacing his dirty, ill-fitted prison uniform. Zaikovski's uniform was too big and greasy, and he used the man's belt to keep the garments in place.

In the meantime, Duo had opened the door of the maintenance room, a wire cutter appearing in his hand. He jerked a black cable box open and cut all the wires, enveloping the entire building, not only the prisoners' wings, in darkness. Heero had no trouble locating Duo in the blackness, lifting up his hand to grab his arm. Something cold and slick slid around his wrist, and he moved to touch it immediately.

"Time?" he asked.

"One hundred and thirty-seven seconds."

"Set." The numbers on his watch lit up faintly. Duo handed him a flashlight, and he switched it on. The soft buzzing sound didn't come from their devices; it was the emergency lights, illuminating barely the walls. There was no time to circumvent the emergency electricity system; the few minutes they had were tight as it was.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Concentrating on Duo in front of him, Heero broke out in a fast jog, and they left the hallway behind them, Duo opening the doors with Zaikovski's keys, who had been higher in rank than him. Heero could smell the remnants of food on the collar of the uniform he had taken from the guard, and he wanted to gag. His body protested against the sudden exertion; only the adrenaline kept him going, kept the fire inside him burning. A crackling sound broke the silence; Zaikovski's radio came to life.

"Zaikovski! Moskovicz! Report!"

"We're at section C-15! The prisoner is secured, sir!" Duo said. "What the hell happened?"

"Zaikovski?" the radio blared.

Heero didn't have much trouble imitating the guard's voice, his throat was rough and strained enough after so little to drink.

"Goddamnit, did a woman screw in a new light bulb? I can't see fuck!" He scowled as soon as he was done.

"How's the prisoner?"

"Silent as can be," Duo answered.

"Hurry up." The radio was affected by some kind of interference. "The President doesn't want to wait."

"We're on our way, sir," Duo almost sang, but he hadn't stopped jogging for a second, his breathing perfectly under control. Heero had to catch his breath, but he didn't allow himself to take a rest. It had been two months, his body had lacked proper nutrition, and right now he was running on adrenaline. He could rest as soon as they had left the building.

Duo grabbed the handle of a door and yanked it open. A staircase. He quickly shot a look at Heero, taken aback by the gritty, grim voice and face of his lover. Heero looked in bad shape, and he wished he had killed that pig of a guard instead of only knocking him out. There was no time for regret or reminiscing now.

"Are you up to it?" he simply asked.

"Go," Heero simply answered. Duo went first, taking the stairs with ease. He halted briefly at every floor to check if no one else had gotten the idea to use the stairs, but it was pretty silent.

Duo's speed decreased, and his hand moved to his stun gun. Heero mimicked him, Zaikovski's stun gun slipping into his hand, fingers curling into a familiar position. It was too silent. The only light came from the faint emergency lights, a yellowish hue that shone upon Duo's fake moles and Heero's pale face. The only sound was their breathing; even though their watches were silent, Heero could hear the seconds tick loudly away. They were wasting time.

Just as Duo wanted to move again, bright light washed over them.

"Shit!" Duo looked up, his eyes wide in surprise before narrowing in anger. "Fuck! Their generators are much quicker back up than normal!"

"Go go go!" Heero pushed against his shoulder. Duo didn't need more encouragement; he all but threw himself off the staircase, his legs working faster than ever before. Heero kept his breathing under control, concentrating on Duo's movements and ignoring the pain wrecking his body. The radio came to life again.

"Zaikovski! Moskovicz! Where are you! Report! Report!"

Neither of them bothered to respond. The game was over. It was no use to pretend anymore. Duo reached the ground floor first, and grabbed a small grate of a ventilation shaft. He tore it away and reached inside, pulling out a small duffle bag. Tossing his stun gun aside, he opened the bag and equipped himself with a Magnum Desert Eagle gun, cocking it as he got up and started to run. Heero followed him. Duo banged open the door leading to the large parking lot, quickly searching out the two patrolling guards. Slipping back into their familiar mission routine, Duo and Heero took care of them, but as soon as they tied the unconscious bodies together, a loud siren went off.

"Busted," Duo grinned. He threw a set of car keys at Heero, who caught them with one hand. "Start up the car, love. I'll be there in a minute."

It was unmistakably a key to a jeep, and after their years together Heero knew Duo's taste in vehicles. The only thing he couldn't get Duo to cooperate on was their choice in cars. Duo Maxwell didn't do decent, modest cars. As if automatically attracted to it, Heero ran to a Jeep Grand Cherokee with a monstrous grill on the front and wasn't surprised at all when the engine turned on with one twist of the keys.

"Move over!" Duo's voice came faster than he expected. He assumed Duo had tried to turn the siren off or spread false information around to confuse the guards. He worked himself into the passenger seat and took the bag from Duo, digging around in it.

"There, there!" Duo pointed at the glove compartment as he hit the gas, the jeep speeding forward. Heero opened it and pulled out the first two things he saw: a protein bar and a bottle of water. He ripped the wrapper from the bar, broke it into two and shoved the pieces into his mouth, his first real food in two months. He unscrewed the cap of the bottle of water, gulping it down frantically and dousing the rest over his head, the closest thing to a shower he had in two months as well.

"Heaven," he muttered, tilting his head as the liquid ran down his cheeks and nose. It was a second perhaps, a second or two that he allowed to enjoy it before the adrenaline kicked back in. He reached once again into the glove compartment, as his eyes had already spotted the Sig Sauer gun with laser sighting. The horrible noise of metal tearing through metal told him that Duo had forcefully driven through the gate that was supposed to lock down the garage lot. He steered sharply to the right, and as Heero rolled down the window, the right mirror was shattered.

"Fuck!" Duo gritted his teeth.

"They're fast," Heero said and activated the laser sight on the gun. "How far to the border?"

"Seventy miles. They must've had a back-up system, or Zaikovski raised the alarm," Duo answered, fingers clenching the steering wheel. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, streaking the theatrical make-up he had used to alter his appearance. With an impatient movement, he used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat away, smudging the make-up even more.

"Don't worry about it," Heero said. He shifted his position so he could lean out of the window without falling and targeted their pursuers.

"How many?"

"Two, maybe three," Heero answered. The red light of the laser traveled through the night, aiming for the tires. Years of experience weren't as easily dismissed, despite having spend two months in the cramped cell; Heero fired, and the car behind them started to swerve madly, metal screeching, sparks flying where the axel hit the asphalt. The car moved to the right, ending up against a tree with a sickening, crashing sound. Heero didn't feel any remorse. There was another car coming up fast, and he noticed one more pair of headlights; the third car. His hand started to shake a little. The adrenaline was wearing off. His body was giving out on him.

"Sit down!" Duo accelerated. Heero moved himself back into the passenger's seat, panting. "Leave it to me." Duo didn't look at him, focused on the road ahead. "I can shake them off. You need to rest-"

"How did you find me?"

"It took me longer than I anticipated," Duo said, his eyes constantly moving back and forth. They hit a very deep pothole in the road, and it shook the both of them; Heero almost puked. The protein bar wanted to work its way out, his body not used to the solid food.

"That doesn't matter." Heero shook his head. "Even if it were two years…"

"It was only two months, Heero," Duo said, and his voice had that particular strain to it. Was he blaming himself?

"You had to work your way up in the system to get hired as a guard, to gain their trust…"

"No, Heero, it has only been two months," Duo said, his voice painful now, and he glanced quickly at him. Heero understood. Just two months, and this prison had almost destroyed him. His strength, his stamina…

"Bastards," Heero said, tightening his grip on the laser gun.

"Don't worry," Duo's voice was soothing somehow, even when in the middle of a chase. "I have enough information on tape and file to get that place shut down. When Relena is notified about all of this, she'll sign the papers for a nice house arrest for the President and will have a Very Long Talk with him. Our testimonies, the information we gathered, the evidence we have is enough to shut it down and put an end to this uproar. Hey, hand me that." He pointed at a package in the duffel bag that had slid between Heero's legs to the floor. He leaned into it to pick up the small box of lotion wipes, plucking out one to give to Duo.

"Sheesh," Duo said, using his right hand to wipe at the make-up on his face, removing the moles and the freckles. There had been a time that they had to apply wrinkles and grey hairs too whenever they needed a 'new' appearance. From the side, Heero could see Duo's face, older, aged, but with still that boyish, devilish grinning charm to it. No, not devilish. The God of Death was driving the vehicle, and he felt safe as a new-born baby.

Bursting into a million splinters, the rear window shattered, the glass almost reaching the front seats. The loud thud of bullets burying themselves into the metal was a reminder that the chase wasn't over yet.

Duo took another sharp turn, this time to the left, and tree branches slammed against the car. Heero had no idea where they were; after his capture at the Presidential palace, he'd been blindfolded until he was thrown into his cell. They crossed farmland at an alarming speed, but their pursuers didn't give up either.

"Let me try to get another shot at them," he said.

"We're close to the border," Duo said, yanking at the steering wheel to avoid a small river. The jeep was a sturdy 4x4, yet Heero felt shaken and his body ached from all the bumps.

"Which one?"

"Italy," Duo said, triumphant. "I made some friends with the _carabinieri_. Don't worry, they won't let any of our… ah, other 'friends' through. We just have to make it…"

Heero knew they were going to make it. He'd seen Duo fly various spacecrafts, and he'd seen Duo operate a Gundam. Duo driving a car was the equivalent of escaping, one way or the other. It almost looked like the lights behind them became fainter, as if there was more distance between them, and right now no new shots were fired… but they weren't safe yet. Duo gritted his teeth, bursting through a wooden gate this time, finding his way back to the regular road, the jeep slipping as it swerved from left to right. He immediately stepped harder on the gas.

"They're still behind us," Heero said. Duo muttered something in return. How fast could they have mobilized local police? There wasn't any aerial support, as far as they could see. The President invested in torture rooms for his 'prisoners', assuming that no one could escape; not counting on ex-Gundam pilots to break out of his perfect little bubble. For a nation that wanted independence so badly, they certainly had neglected to rally up a good army or a police force.

"Border!" Duo suddenly yelled and they raced past a couple of houses with signs so fast that Heero couldn't read them. He stuck his head out of the window, seeing Italian _carabinieri _closing a rattling gate behind them - and to his relief, their pursuers didn't have the guts to run them over. As they quickly drove on, Heero could see them get out of the cars, launching into a tantrum whereas the Italians started to yell, and then everyone was out of sight. He let go of the adrenaline, falling back into his seat, feeling at ease.

* * *

"Heero. Heero, wake up, love."

He opened his eyes, gasping as he didn't know where he was, if only for a second. The sun was rising, a soft, gentle orange at the horizon, providing precious, fresh daylight. Now he could see how badly damaged the car was; the entire front window was cracked. It was a miracle that Duo had seen anything through it. A click, and Duo opened the door for him. A strange noise startled Heero, as he couldn't identify it.

"It's all right," Duo said. "It's just the old lady over there."

Heero followed his gaze and noticed an elderly, hunch-backed lady sweeping her _terrazzo _with a wooden brush. She caught him looking at her and showed a toothless smile.

"_Buongiorno_, _signores_," she called. Duo waved back at her to acknowledge her greeting and helped Heero out of the car. He was dazed and confused and very, very nauseous.

"You're running on empty," Duo said, almost whispering in his ears. "It's all right now. You're safe. We're safe."

"Where are we?" Heero asked breathlessly.

"Verona," Duo told him. He kicked the door close behind him and led Heero, with a hand on his elbow, towards a quaint house, pressed between a bakery and an apartment building. "I drove all night. I've notified everyone already, and Quatre is right now fueling his private jet to come see us."

"Trowa? Wufei? Relena?"

"Everyone is okay, Heero."

"You?"

"I'm okay too." Duo was quick, but Heero was quicker. He stared at Duo's face, the exhaustion clearly visible. He wanted to kiss him right here and now, but Duo held a hand between them. "Let's get inside," he said, holding up the house key.

They stumbled inside, into a modest living room with a tiled floor and two couches, a loveseat and a coffee table. Empty bottles of Chianti decorated the ceiling, and lush paintings of Venetian gondolas adorned the walls. Heero didn't care about the interior decoration. Duo said it was safe, and he knew it was safe. He had escaped, just like Duo. Escaped from hell itself…

With one step, he grabbed Duo's wrist and pulled him immediately towards himself. Duo's arms went around his body, both still clad in those awful guard uniforms, the rough fabric chafing their skin. The hug became frantic, both pawing each other's bodies to check for injuries.

"God, you're nothing but skin and bones," Duo said. "Those bastards! I knew it, I saw it happening everywhere, but I couldn't take the risk of smuggling food to you. I had trouble enough getting that shift to transfer you…"

"I know, I know, it's all right," Heero shushed him. "I'll recover."

"I know." Duo tried to smile, but it was a sad one. "I know you will. But what they did to you… what they do to those other people…"

"We'll bring them down, Duo," Heero said. "Like you yourself said, we have evidence enough of what's going on in there. The majority of the prisoners are innocent civilians that opposed the President. They deserve their life back, their country back. The ESUN will never stand for war-mongering tyrants who call themselves 'President'."

"How can people be so ruthless? That Zaikovski.. We've seen so many prisons from the inside now, we've been on so many missions, and still I'm surprised to see how low people can sink, what they can and will do to just…"

"Survive," Heero said. He stared into Duo's eyes. They had never had a real growth spurt, and still Duo was a few inches shorter than him. He leaned forward, and placed a kiss between his eyes. "People will do anything to survive. I meditated and tried to keep my strength. Zaikovski is sadistic and mean, but he acts like that to avoid ending up a prisoner himself."

"No, Heero. That man was bad to the core. I had to spend all that time kissing up to him, to get that shift to transfer you, and one moment I thought he was going to ask me to lick the mud off of his boots."

"Some people are genuinely bad, yes," Heero said. He heaved a sigh. "If you don't mind..?"

"Yeah, I know. We'll talk about it later. We have a lot to talk about."

"Duo, please."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, right…" Duo removed the lenses from his eyes and the cheek implants, so his face returned to its old, heart-shaped self. Not wanting to break up their hug, he threw everything on the floor and raked a hand through his hair. "You need a shower, a long and good night of sleep, something to eat… There are enough clothes upstairs, and I brought your laptop - but you're not going on the computer before you had at least a shower and some sleep!"

Heero nodded. "You need a shower and sleep too," he pointed out dryly. "You drove the entire night, you planned and executed the entire escape..."

"We'll take that shower together," Duo said.

"Thank you. For everything."

"You would've gotten me out of there too."

"I would've torn down those walls bare-handed, you know that."

Duo looked up at him, lifting his hand to ruffle Heero's hair. "We escaped."

"We don't belong in prison."

"Never."

* * *

When Quatre Winner finally arrived, with a huge fruit basket in his arms, he found his fellow ex-Gundam pilots asleep in the bed, Heero's arms around Duo, cuddled up without a millimeter of space between their bodies, scenting strangely like the fresh oregano bread from their neighbor's bakery.

* * *

End


End file.
